Short term chastity can mean putting in the time when you’re eight hours apart. But this week my Domme and key holder @fireandhoney finally received the key for my new cage, after a journey a third of the way around the world.

It’s good to know I’m in safe hands.

Find out who else has been mentioning their unmentionables by clicking on the lips below.

At a loose end all over, like a tethered kite in a gale. I feel like, at any moment, I will get ripped away by a wild wind and be lost from you forever, A strange anxiety because the need to belong to you is so strong is it both a comfort and a fear; that I literally don’t know what to do with myself when I feel the need to submit to you like this. I feel overclothed, which is not even a word but is exactly how I feel right now; it’s a common response of mine to anxiety caused by my submissiveness, the need to divest myself of all clothes, like I am deliberately choosing the most obvious way to make myself more vulnerable. That by doing so I will draw you in to gather me up in the safety of your knowing arms and make me feel needed and cherished and loved and… useful.

For the biggest fear is of not being needed, of being surplus to requirements. I understand this is a common sub fear, another one to add to the whole pile of things we can tie ourselves into knots over as subs: too needy, not observant or responsive enough, not being able to read minds, too bratty, not bratty enough, too… uninteresting enough to not be worth bothering with. Someone on a Femdom chatroom said a true thing the other day about punishing subs: how do you punish someone who gets off on punishment? The answer is to ignore them. Ghost or blank them for a few days. The sub is the most PassAgg of attention seekers and his greatest fear is of being overlooked.

But that is not how I feel tonight, because I am secure in the domination, love and protection of Miss. She relies on me to step up sometimes and protect her from bad things that threaten to derail her. I enjoy this, but it is a stretch skill – not the protecting, that is easy. Subs are not people who necessarily step back from a fight. I am a karate blue belt and can handle myself.

The stretch comes in the making decisions that anticipate something to help Miss, even if that action is based upon her direction. As we have learned about each other, she has needed me to draw upon my sub skills to help her manage her doubts and fears, and remind her how wonderful she is. When Miss is feeling more able to manage some things, then I gratefully retreat to the shadows and into my devotion to her.

Somehow, I found Miss. She brings together a worldliness, unafraid to taste everything and to follow passions. Her knowledge, interests, inclination to discover and explore, and to create are inspirational to me, as someone who can too easily dwell in his comfort zone unless pushed.

She draws me out of the darkness of my doubts and into the light of her control. My submission gives me meaning, a way of defining who I am and how I can make sense of the expression of my sexual needs.

She has taken that need and given me a purpose and, by showing me how that purpose can be lived, and not just put up with, she make us fit together like a single entity with a common purpose. Her, me, her dominance and my submission are the four chambers of a heart. We push and pull, give and receive, between us we give life to the external shells seen by the outside world.

We look forward to these daily shows, trapped in the ratios of phone screens and laptops. I want to get as close to the camera as I can, but it distorts and then blacks out, and I sit back down. We talk about the day’s events, and I hear them and I also don’t hear them, because I’m looking at you. It is as though what we have is so intense, I cannot spare more than one sense at a time to take it all in. I have to listen hard to parse and process not peer at the pixels in wonder at how beautiful you are and how you can be all so far away and yet right here.

And when there are no words, there are pictures without sound. Looking into you as though there were no barrier between us. An involuntary twitch of the lips I reciprocate, it’s the kiss that is blown half way around the world in an instant. A mouth whose movements I know and eyes that were the first thing I noticed and still are, every time we speak.

And sometimes we turn off the pictures, to listen to the sound of each other breathing. The pauses, the catch in your voice, as you tell me about the ways we will spoon, when the moment is here when we finally break the Fourth Wall. When the third, fourth and fifth senses will finally be as fulfilled in three dimensions. Where your hands will be and where you will place mine. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable now until I hear you say:

“Are you as turned on as I am?”
“Can I touch it?”
“Yes”

And we come in a minute.

You are not here and yet your spirit is so intensely here, I don’t notice the delays or ISDN glitches; you are the opposite of the rest of my life which is ever-present and yet makes the same impression as a pebble on the surface of a lake. That is the nothing that is not there, you are the nothing that is.

“Don’t be cute with me, bratty slut. How does it feel when you wear it, sitting your big chair. That oh-so-expensive cloth gently cupping your balls and cock as you talk with your mistress.”

“Well, I-”

“Stand up. Look out at the office floor, between the gaps in the frosted glass. How many people are out there?”

“A hundred, hundred and fifty maybe? I haven’t counted, I-”

“You know every one of them, because you picked them by hand. They’d all run through fire for you, big man that you are. With your five thousand pound suits filled with a cock that gets hard just thinking of the money they’re making for you. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of which ones you’d like to fuck across your big desk, both the boys and girls. Are you getting hard and drippy being told this, dirty bitch?

“Touch it. Rub it slowly. And shut the fuck up and listen as I tell you what I’m going to do.

“I’m coming down there with a big fucking pair of scissors – proper tailor’s shears – and I’m coming right into your office. You’re going to be waiting for me, standing, arms in front of you, leaning against the window, looking at me, holding out your belt. I’m not going to make eye contact with you yet, fucker – I’ll take that belt and turn you into the wall, hard, feel my weight at your shoulder, your face pressed into the cold glass as I cuff you with the belt like a kid in a drugs bust. Prissy, privileged white boy getting his collar felt, who’s going get some treatment before I’m through with you.

“So we’ll make the perp walk a bit easier, shall we? You’re going to whimper when you feel me push those bound hands higher up your back, but you’ll shut up damn quick when you feel the cold blade down the back of those expensive pants. I will cut through to the skin, you’ll shudder as you feel the blade pass between your ass cheeks and so close to the perineum you might mistake it for a tongue. Then, I’ll get furious. I’ll slash, tear and lacerate those fancy-pants and leave you exposed for the total slut you really are. No doubt you’ll get hard from me doing that, dirty fucktoy. But I’m not done by a long way.

“I’ll pull the jacket straight back, propping you up with my knee and stretch you. You’re going to feel my hands everywhere inside that Thomas Pink shirt. Pulling and pinching your slutty hard nipples, pressing at your throat and windpipe. I’m going to gouge strips so deep down your back you’ll think you’re wearing pinstripe skin. But you are going to fucking love it. As I push you up the window when I tear at that flesh, I know I’ll sense your swollen cock press against the glass, splayed, crushed, throbbing and seeping precum from its shiny head. Am I close to what you were thinking about, fucktoy?

“Don’t speak. Don’t say a fucking word. Keep rubbing yourself. Slip a finger inside those merino wool layers and feel the strain at your underpants. You’ll be ready to smash plates with that thing when I’m through with you. Feel it pulse. You want to let it out, grab it, wank it, feel that hungry flesh and my dirty tongue in your ear. But it’s going to stay there until I say, because your needs mean nothing. I need to hear you tell me you get this.”

“This is your cock, ma’am. I’m only here to serve you. Take me and use me.”

Since the start of my submission to Violet, I’ve been wanting to wear a chastity device as part of our D/s. We discussed it in our contract, decided the sort of cage we wanted, and made the purchase; after a slight size mix-up, I was able to wear the cage for her for the first time this week.

The use of chastity as a short-term expression of control is important to both of us. While Violet doesn’t eroticise denial as such, we wanted the offering of my orgasm control to her to be a key feature of our D/s. I have written previously on a now-discontinued blog about my first experience of cage wearing, and so could approach it second time around with more knowledge and experience. But with also the realisation that the symbolism runs deeper than even I appreciated at the time.

I was thinking of how, although it is early days yet, I feel so much more enabled in this cage. Not wishing to overthink this, but I can’t help thinking of my cages as metaphors for my D/s experiences – not least because they are intimately connected with them.
My first cage was capricious, sharp in places, uncomfortable unless propped with supporting briefs and strategically placed padding to prevent ring pinching and the lock nipping the top of the cock, even when closed. It made wearing it an ordeal at times, like the relationship it was bought for. Looking back I wonder why I put up with it – I thought all cages were like that.

By comparison this cage is so smooth. It feels nicely weighty, fits well, no sharp surprises and no constant need to build Heath-Robinson contraptions to keep it all in place. I don’t feel impeded – none of that sharp intake of breath when I stand up, in case of a stabbing shot of pain. Just the warm weight of a beautiful burden between my legs that makes me think of her when I feel it and the importance of my submission.

Building on this, I realise what I am doing is recalibrating my submission, away from old terms and tropes, discovering a new way of talking about a new experience. The temptation would be to think of doing things like you used to, but the progress of our D/s has been about reclaiming it from those people in our past who might have tainted it or made us assume it had to be one particular imperfect way.

I reject that. This can be how we want it to be. I love our way of doing it because it is ours – we are making it anew how we want. We are taking back control.